One Hundred Shots
by JessicaRae24
Summary: Answer to the 100 Theme challenge on Psychfic. This will be 100 random one shots. There will be angst, drama, adventure, and plenty of hurt!Shawn. No slash.


Breathe Again

By: JessicaRae

Notes: Okay. This is me trying to get the Psych writing juices flowing again. I'd add on to my other answer to this 100 theme challenge, 100 Days, but even that has a continuing story arc so that I can't just be random with it. THIS is random, though, and purely to exercise the creative muscles. This here is 100 random one shots. Enjoy!

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. No money is being made from this work. No copyright infringement is intended.

--

Sneakers skimmed the coarse cement, toes scraping for purchase. For a few precious seconds they caught the ground, causing the struggling body to shudder in momentary relief, but one fierce jerk backwards and the ground was once again lost. The scraping sound his shoes made as they skimmed the pavement was unbelievably loud to his ears, the sound managing to break through the dull roar echoing in his head.

Shawn Spencer hadn't seen this coming. He never saw things like this coming, and this was the second time it had happened. He should have learned not to stand so close to the accused, but perhaps the rather quick ending of the previous incident dulled the lesson God was trying to teach him.

One moment he was artfully informing his small audience how one Mr. Harold Lamen had killed his business partner, and the next he had a thick arm wrapped around his neck and a gun barrel digging into his temple.

Normally, Shawn's primary concern would be the gun. A gunshot to the head would definitely not be a good thing, but what was really demanding his attention was the strong arm practically crushing his throat.

He couldn't breathe.

Eyes closed tightly, Shawn's hands fiercely gripped the arm currently cutting off his air. He tried to find the ground again with his feet, desperately seeking to ease the pressure on his neck, but every time he managed to stand and BREATHE, Harold would take another step backwards and jerk Shawn roughly back with him, the fake psychic's feet losing contact with the ground.

God, why did this guy have to be so tall? And so strong? The man's arm was like a steel band, never moving from it's crushing grip even as Shawn's hands tried to pry it away from his throat, fingernails digging into the man's sleeve, but the thick material offered no purchase.

Feeling his chest beginning to burn, panic amplifying the pounding of his heart, Shawn's feet again caught the ground and he desperately sucked in air. When he wasn't jerked from his feet again, Shawn didn't question it and kept on dragging oxygen into his neglected lungs.

It seemed Harold had decided to stop moving and for that Shawn was grateful. He balanced on the tips of his toes, leaning back heavily into his captor as he wheezed. The man's grip was still restrictive and what air Shawn could wheeze in was just not enough, not nearly enough, but the little air Shawn managed to take in cleared some of the haze from his mind and he cracked open his eyes, the corners pinched in pain and fear.

The scene before him caused both fear and relief to flow through him. Fear for his situation, staring down the barrels of four additional guns. Granted, the guns were aimed toward Harold, but given his current position that meant they were also pointed at him. He felt relief in seeing the people he needed to save his life holding those weapons. He knew they would do whatever possible to save him. Shawn tried to take confidence from that fact.

Sucking in a thick breath, Shawn tried to take in the full details of his surroundings, but the shadowed garage made things hard to see. In hindsight, it was probably a really bad idea to confront Harold in the parking garage as he left his office, but since the man was about to skip town Shawn hadn't had many options.

It was at about this time that voices started to filter through the roar in Shawn's ears. They were shouting, their voices echoing. Furrowing his brow, he tried to sort out the words. Then Harold's arm flexed its hold and the gun shoved harder against his head. Shawn's shallow breathing stuttered and the panic at losing his breath again changed his low wheeze into shuddering pants, like those of a sobbing child.

"Shawn!"

Shawn's eyes snapped open. He hadn't even realized he'd closed them again. His green gaze roved across the garage, blinking rapidly to clear away the tears that blurred his vision as he sought out the source of the voice.

When he found it, his face pinched slightly in need. Normally, he was the last person Shawn wanted to see, but right now he was scared, more scared than he'd ever been in his life. There was no one he wanted more.

"Dad."

The word rasped from his lips, his voice so hoarse he didn't recognize it. He didn't know why or how his father was there and right then, he didn't care. He was there, and all Shawn wanted was for his father to fix this.

Help me.

A shuddering gasp shook Shawn as Harold suddenly jerked him backwards, again on the move. The man's arm tightened its hold.

No. No, no, no, no.

Shawn's feet slid across the concrete, fighting to regain their footing, but it was no use. Shawn's panicked gaze locked onto is father as his breath was stolen from him again. This time he feared he wouldn't get it back.

Staring into his father's face Shawn saw pure fear widen the man's blue eyes. Henry's mouth was moving. He was yelling something, but it was lost on Shawn. He could see the others moving forward in his peripheral, following as Harold kept shuffling back. There were more moving mouths and more echoing voices, but Shawn's eyes were now in a fixed stare. It was like his vision was tunneling, growing dark at the edges even as bright points of light danced across his eyes.

His chest was tight, his lungs pleading for air. His heart hammered, threatening to explode from his chest as panic surged through his mind.

God, he needed to breathe.

Slowly, all sounds echoing around Shawn became muted. The hands he had gripping Harold's arm began to weaken, relaxing from their hold. His fingertips scraped across the man's sleeve as his hands fell away to swing limply at his side.

Shawn felt his eyes wanting to roll back in his head, so he let his lids fall closed. His chest felt like it was swelling up as the need for air reached its peak. Slowly, ever so slowly, Shawn felt himself beginning to slip away.

This was it. This was the end of Shawn Spencer.

Whoop-de-doo.

What a way to go.

Suddenly, Shawn felt like he was falling into a black bottomless pit and he felt heartbroken to find that he was falling into the dark instead of being lifted into a blinding white light. He guessed where he was bound there weren't any fluffy white clouds and cute little angels with harps.

Then sound returned to him in the form of an explosion, the sound so loud it was painful. His downward fall stopped with a bone jarring impact, his head cracking against something incredibly hard and unforgiving. Now Shawn did see a white light as pain encompassed his head.

Then everything turned black and just… stopped.

--

Someone was shaking him, hard. Hands gripped his shoulders so tight it hurt. He wanted them to stop, but his mind wasn't working well enough to think clearly, let alone speak. There was noise, though. Voices. One was louder than the rest, and Shawn had to force himself to concentrate.

"-eathe, Shawn! Dammit! Breathe!"

Breathe?

Then something touched his head, pressing hard, and the pain made him gasp. Air. Oh God, air. Shawn suddenly couldn't get enough. He gulped it in, each gasping breath burning down his throat and causing his head to pound in tandem.

And then his throat seemed to just close up and he was coughing. It hurt, burned. Every time he inhaled, a cough tore through him. God, he just wanted to breathe. Please, please, please…

Shawn felt tears escaping his clenched eyes. He felt the cold, hard cement under his curled body. His hands clutched at his throat, willing the coughs to stop and to be able to breathe again. The throbbing pain in his head was beginning to fade as his mind began to lose focus.

He felt lightheaded and still he coughed, but he was weakening, becoming listless. Then he felt a hand at the back of his neck and another pulling one of his hands from his throat. Someone was there. Someone was talking to him. Shawn suddenly gripped the hand pulling at him, squeezing it hard in an effort to communicate.

Make it stop.

Shawn tried to listen to what they were saying, to hear them over his coughing, but his mind kept wandering and he felt the pull of unconsciousness slowly overpowering him.

"-awn, you gotta relax. Take slow, steady breaths. You gotta calm down, son. Please…"

Recognizing the voice Shawn relaxed instantly, his body going limp. Weak coughs still shook his frame, but he was trying to do as asked. He fought to calm his breathing, to quell his burning coughs. He forced the blackness of unconsciousness back, fought to breathe steadily. Shawn gripped the hand even harder and shot his other hand out to grasp the rough fabric of a shirt that was no doubt a rainbow of hideous colors.

"Dad," Shawn rasped, breathing in a shuddering gasp at the torture speaking caused his throat. "Dad…"

"I'm here, kid. I'm here," Henry soothed, his voice so gentle Shawn had to open his eyes to make sure it was truly him. Henry smiled down at the bloodshot, watery eyes, "Don't talk, Shawn. Just breathe, okay? Just breathe for me."

"S' hard," Shawn wheezed, and then groaned softly as his father lifted his back from the cold cement and then slid in behind him. He leaned back into his father's chest, closing his eyes. Sitting up made the effort to breathe easier and he risked letting out a sigh of relief.

"I know, Shawn," Henry toned, his rough voice reverberating in his chest and causing Shawn to smile. "Just take it easy and concentrate on breathing slow and steady. Quit trying to talk. You're all right now, okay? You're safe."

"Wha' happened?" Shawn rasped, eyes still closed.

Henry expelled an exasperated sigh, "What part of 'Don't talk' do you not understand, Shawn?"

"Shawn?"

Shawn opened his eyes, grinning as he looked up.

"Gus!" he croaked, happy to see his friend. "You 'kay?"

Gus rolled his eyes as he went down on one knee before his friend, "I'm fine, Shawn. You were the one used as a human shield and nearly choked to death. Are you okay?"

Was he okay? Shawn couldn't stop the laugh, but it quickly turned into a series of coughs that robbed him of breath. He hastily leaned forward in an effort to ease the restriction, but his throat was swollen and there was nothing he could do to help that. He struggled to regain his breathing, feeling the panic returning as blackness once again encroached at the edges of his vision.

--

"Shawn!" Gus exclaimed, shooting a hand out to grasp Shawn's shoulder, stopping his friend from falling completely forward.

"Damn it!" growled Henry, pulling Shawn back to lean against him. He fixed piercing blue eyes on Gus. "Where the hell are those paramedics?!"

"ETA is one minute."

Henry's eyes snapped up to Carlton Lassiter. He gave a curt nod of acknowledgment, then returned his attention to his son. Carlton stared down at them for a few seconds and then pursed his lips. He straightened and glanced back at the busy crime scene, then back down at the trio.

"Just keep him calm," the Sr. Detective ordered, "He'll be fine."

Henry just glared at the man until he returned to Juliet's side, standing guard over a cuffed Harold Lamen seated in a police cruiser. Henry watched as Juliet looked across to them, her eyes falling down to study Shawn. Concern shown clearly in her eyes as she watched his son, and as she looked away she caught Henry's gaze. Her eyes widened slightly at the contact, but then she smiled and gave a small nod. Henry found he couldn't help the smile he made in return.

"Dad."

Henry's attention immediately went back to Shawn, "Hey. You okay?"

"M'fine," Shawn managed to reply, but his voice was raspier than before. "Wha' hap'ened?"

Sighing, Henry shared a long-suffering look with Gus, and then looked back down at his son, "If I tell you, will you shut up?"

Shawn's brow furrowed in offense, but all he managed to do was look like a beaten little boy with those bloodshot eyes and streaks of blood flowing from the cut on the side of his head. Henry frowned at the wound, but was happy to see it had stopped bleeding. He raised a hand to examine it, but Shawn shied away with a wince.

"Quit," Shawn wheezed, in pain more than anger. He looked up at his father, then across to Gus, then back. "Tell me."

"Fine," groused Henry, "But no more talking."

Giving in, Shawn settled for a nod.

"Good," smiled Henry, but the smile quickly slid from his face. "You were lucky, Shawn. Damn lucky. The guy who had you-"

"Lamen, Harold Lamen," Gus supplied, his eyes still anxious as he watched his friend.

"Harold Lamen," Henry repeated, "He kept moving back, dragging you, choking you. I don't think he even knew he was cutting off your air. He was panicking, losing it."

Henry looked down at the cement floor they sat on, then to the left of them. He shook his head, "He tripped over the speed bump, Shawn. And then you both just fell and… the gun went off."

"It went off right next to your head, Shawn," interrupted Gus, his eyes full of remembered fear. "I- I thought… I thought he shot you, Shawn. In the head…"

Shawn's eyes widened, raising a hand to touch his forehead, but Henry caught it and forced it back down, "He didn't hit you, Shawn. You got a bit of a burn from the muzzle flash, but you didn't get shot. What you did do is crack your skull pretty good when you hit the ground." Henry again reached for the cut, eyes concerned, "I don't think you have a concussion, you were out no more than a few seconds, but you weren't breathing…"

"Lassiter and Juliet grabbed Harold as soon as he hit the ground," Gus supplied for Henry when the man failed to continue. "I wanted to get to you, but Buzz held me back. Henry got to you right away, though."

"Only because I knocked Karen on her-" Henry broke off at the smile that danced in his son's eyes. He cleared his throat, "That is, I only got to you so fast because I shoved Karen out of the way."

Remembering that moment, of seeing his son lying motionless on the cold concrete… Henry blinked the image away, instead looking down at his very much alive son, "I think you forgot how to breathe for a bit there, Shawn."

Then Henry gave him a hard stare, raising a hand to point at his son's nose. He had to fight to keep the smile from his face as Shawn focused on his finger, eyes crossing. It was an effort to keep his voice stern as he scolded the boy, "Don't you dare forget that again."

Eyes uncrossing, Shawn smiled and looked like he was going to say something, but at Henry's raised eyebrow remembered his promise to stop talking. He decided to heed it and relaxed against his dad, keeping his breathing as even as possible.

"We'll take it from here."

All three of them looked up at the paramedics standing before them. Gus quickly moved out of the way, while Shawn shrank back against his father. His breathing quickened, the wheezing becoming more pronounced.

Henry gripped Shawn's shoulders, giving them a reassuring squeeze, "It's okay, Shawn. Calm down. Let them check you out and get you to the hospital, all right? You're gonna be fine."

Staring up at his father, Shawn slowly nodded his head and slowed his breathing, but it quickened again as Henry removed himself from his side. Shawn grabbed Henry's hand as the man stood. The fear in his eyes pulled at Henry's heart.

"Shawn," Henry toned, bending down toward his son. "It's okay. I'm right here, but I've got to let the paramedics do their job."

Shawn stared at him for a few moments and then nodded, squeezing his hand before letting it go. Henry straightened and took a step back, allowing the medics the room they needed to work. He tensed when they moved and blocked his view of Shawn's face, not being able to see his son only causing the panicked memories of the past half hour to replay.

Henry never, ever wanted to see the like of what he'd witnessed again. His son being used as a human shield, his son struggling for air, his son looking at him with pleading eyes, his son so scared he was begging for help from his father…

His son, falling and the gun going off…

His son, lying motionless on the concrete with blood flowing from his head…

His son, not breathing…

Blinking, Henry shook his head and the memories away. He focused on the paramedics as they loaded Shawn onto a stretcher and began to move him toward the waiting ambulance. As they began to move away, Henry caught one of their arms.

Henry looked at the medic, then looked down at his son. His eyes were closed, an oxygen mask covering his nose and mouth, but he seemed to be breathing easier now. He looked back to the medic, "How is he?"

The medic smiled reassuringly, "That head wound will need stitches, but there's no sign of concussion. His throat is swollen, but it doesn't appear anything was crushed. His O2 levels are pretty low, but he's improving." The medic reached out and grasped Henry's shoulder, "He's gonna be fine. He'll need the hospital for a day or so, but he'll be fine."

Henry smiled, closing his eyes briefly as he nodded. The medic released his shoulder and gestured to the ambulance, "You riding along?"

Henry started to say yes, but then caught sight of Gus. The young man was standing off the side, eyes wide with worry as he watched them load Shawn into the ambulance. Henry looked back to the medic, "No, I'll follow in my truck." Henry gestured to Gus, "He'll be riding with him."

The medic gave him a quick nod and then walked over to Gus, startling the young man when he grabbed his arm and began pulling him toward the ambulance. Henry watched as Gus listened to what the medic had to say, and then turned surprised eyes Henry's way. Henry smiled and nodded, his eyes telling Gus it was okay. Gus paused a moment and then sent Henry a grateful smile, quickly turning and climbing up into the ambulance with his best friend.

As the doors slammed shut and the lights and siren began their dance, Henry took in a deep breath and watched as it pulled away.

Now… Shawn was going to be fine.

Now…

He could breathe again.

The End.

Reviews are greatly appreciated!


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